Do you remember a while back when I reviewed two books by Marisa de los Santos ("Love Walked In" and "Belong to Me") and complimented her linguistic craftsmanship? She obviously takes great pleasure in playing with words and putting them together so well that reading them silently isn't enough. You want to say them out loud, and they are as much fun on your lips as a big pink bubble of gum.
I mentioned this to Dianna, who told me that one of her favorite language artists was Amy Bloom. Then, being the super cool friend she is, Dianna sent me (higher postage be damned) a copy of Bloom's "Away" and posted on her own blog that she would cyber-stalk me until I read it.
Well, I read it. Here we go:
"Away" is the story of Russian emigrant Lillian Leyb, who escapes to New York City after her parents and husband are murdered and her daughter vanishes and her home burns to the ground during a wave of Jewish persecution in the early part of the century. Physically, she couldn't be much further away from her past when she becomes mistress to the father-and-son proprietors of a Yiddish theater on the Lower East Side. Mentally/emotionally, her past is always with her and Bloom lets us know from the very first page that THAT is what is going to carry Lillian through the story.
Bloom does this through her artistry. The writing doesn't pack an obvious punch; it's very stream-of-thought, with otherwise-unnoteworthy observations and details strung together, and it's not until the end of the paragraph that you realize you've just read everything exactly as it is and exactly as you would have thought it yourself if you were in Lillian's shoes. Have you ever walked into someone's home for the first time, looked around and in a split-second have a feeling that you know so much more about that person based on the way they've decorated, or the smells coming from the kitchen, or the type of pet they do or don't have? Bloom writes it out, so that we are Lillian and we are watching Lillian at the same time.
When Lillian gets word (true or false, she doesn't know) that her daughter is alive in Siberia, she sets out to find her. We don't know until the end of the book whether that information is or isn't accurate, and it's because that's not what the story is about. The story is about the perseverance of women. Lillian's comes from the love for her child and her true nature as a caregiver. Gumdrop Brown's, a Seattle prostitute Lillian is saved by on her journey, comes from her strong sense of self-worth. Chinky Chang's, a Chinese convict Lillian meets in a Canadian women's prison, comes from her intelligence and adaptability. Mrs. Gilpin, who doesn't play a huge role, perseveres from a place of superficial to genuine comfort. Even dead Mrs. Mason is treated with the utmost respect via Lillian's care of her children. (None of this is to say that terrible things don't happen to each of these people... however all of them, with the sad exception of Mrs. Mason, knows exactly what they're getting into.)
For those who hate to wonder "what if," Bloom does us a favor and gives us a couple of pages on what happens to these people after Lillian has parted ways with them. The men - who I don't bother to mention because all but the last one she meets contribute on only a physical, trivial level - live and die tragically. The women make lives for themselves and are able to distance from their difficult beginnings. They never forget, of course, but they live long enough to have more to remember.
I didn't cry. I was never sad or even that moved, not even when we finally know whether Lillian's daughter is alive or whether they are ever reunited. Not even the awful descriptions of Lillian's physical torment compelled me as much as the power within her that kept her going. The women in this book know themselves and what they need and are able to identify that and latch onto it when they see it, even if it means turning their backs on everything they've known up to that point. That is strength. The special kind that women especially understand.
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